


Victorian Novel Heroine Disease

by EzraTheBlue



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anxiety, Bullying, Falling In Love, M/M, Oblivious Ignis Scientia, Prompto Argentum is a Ray of Sunshine, Prompto and Noctis are 18, Rated for Wet Dreams, Sickfic, but not actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:54:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22593619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EzraTheBlue/pseuds/EzraTheBlue
Summary: Ignis had begun to notice himself feeling strange, his symptoms flaring up seemingly at random, and yet always in front of Prompto. Why does his chest clench, his breath come short, his stomach twist like it's full of insects? What about this strange fever that makes his face feel like it's on fire? And why is he waking up in the middle of the night with his heart racing a mile a minute?Ignis thinks that surely, he must be deathly ill...
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 30
Kudos: 114





	Victorian Novel Heroine Disease

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Ignis! I knew I needed to do something Ignis-centric, so I dug in ye olde Idea doc and found this treasure from once upon a time on Discord! I don't even remember the context for this conversation, but it came from a conversation [Marley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marleymars/), [ignisgayentia](ignisgayentia), and [Scarlett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarlettArbuckle) and I had, like, back before the Promnis Big Bang. I decided to do something with it for Iggy's birthday. Thanks for the inspiration, guys <3
> 
> Special thanks to the inimitable [Callie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SongOfMarbule) for beta reading! I am not worthy~
> 
> Inspiration for the title came from the trope [Victorian Novel Disease](https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/VictorianNovelDisease), and a [list](https://the-toast.net/2015/06/11/things-women-in-literature-have-died-from/) of ways that women in literature have died, which included "shawl insufficiency," "too many pillows," and "The Unpleasantness."
> 
> Enjoy!

**Victorian Novel Heroine Disease**

Ignis wasn’t certain when it started; it crept up on him like a cat in the dark. However, he did notice when it pounced. 

It was a typical chilly winter’s night at Noctis’ apartment. Noctis was working on his college applications. Ignis was checking his emails while stirring a pot of potato soup. Noctis would glance up from his essays every few minutes towards the door, and Ignis suspected he was waiting for Prompto. His chest twinged a little when he caught Noctis looking again, only to see him turn back down to his paperwork with a grimace. He never enjoyed seeing Noctis in distress, and turned his full attention to him.

“Is something the matter?”

“Prompto’s running late, and he said he’d read over this essay with me.” Noctis flapped at one of the papers. “Plus he needs help with his application.” He sneered. “I hope his jerkass boss didn’t keep him late again.” 

“Language.” Ignis tapped the spoon on the edge of the pot. “Has he had issues with his current employer?”

At the end of that sentence, Ignis’ chest seized again, his lungs feeling like they were squeezing in the center, and he cleared his throat. Noctis raised an eyebrow, then turned back to his paper.

“Same issue he’s had with all his junk part-time jobs. I feel like I got lucky with mine. He either doesn’t have enough hours or gets forced to work overtime, and he never gets paid enough. I keep telling him to try for Crownsguard.” Noctis huffed. “If nothing else, if he worked for the government, I could reprimand his boss and not get in trouble for abuse of power or whatever.”

Ignis frowned at the thought, his throat itching. “Crownsguard isn’t a position of convenience, Noctis. Prompto would be put in direct danger if he were to enlist.” Ignis cleared his throat again and resumed stirring the soup. “If he passed muster and succeeded in training, he’d likely be assigned as a guard in the Citadel, and we do have security concerns, most of which never reach your ears.” 

“It’s not like he wasn’t considering it anyway.” Noctis scowled at his paperwork. “He’s just on the fence over whether or not he’d actually get in.” 

Ignis felt a lump in his throat. “That’s no question in my eyes. He’s proven himself in loyalty and dedication in sticking by you for as long as he has, but has he considered the risk?”

“He said he doesn’t care, he just wants to help me.” Noctis sighed. “Why are you all up in arms over it, anyway?”

Ignis couldn’t rightly answer that. He felt an odd sort of protectiveness over Prompto; he was Noctis’ age, so of course Ignis felt the same brotherly urge to protect as he did for Noctis, but his connection with Prompto was different in a way Ignis couldn’t explain. Prompto was flighty and bouncy, often off on his own whims or flitting in and out of a room at his pleasure, but he was always so cheerful and pleasant, laughing everything off, that Ignis couldn’t help but find him endearing. Perhaps it was because Ignis had no mandated connection to him, or maybe it was because Prompto was always grateful for Ignis’ kindness and even went out of his way to be kind in return. He hadn’t pieced it together as of yet, and when Noctis pointed it out to Gladio, Gladio had laughed and said, “I’m sure Iggy’ll figure it out.”

And yet he hadn’t, but here was Noctis, bringing it up again. Ignis struggled for an answer. “Noct… it’s…”

Just then, the doorbell rang, and Noctis jumped up to answer it. Ignis frowned to himself, mulling over Noctis’ question as he let Prompto in, but no answer was immediately forthcoming, and he was distracted before he could mull on it too long. Noctis entered with Prompto bounding by his side like a puppy, cheerful and bright as he shed his scarf and hat and put them up in the hall. Prompto, rakish and boyish in his convenience store uniform, chattered with Noctis about a customer he’d been helping to explain away why he’d been late, and Ignis’ gaze caught on him as he yanked his uniform shirt off over his head.

Ignis’ heart squeezed and fluttered, his face flushed until he felt like it was boiling, his stomach too tight for a moment, the sensation so fierce it stopped Ignis in his tracks. He grasped at his chest, frowning, as if he could reach for the problem and force it right itself, but as Prompto smoothed his undershirt down his belly and turned to Ignis with a beaming smile, it squeezed again.

“Hey, Iggy!” Prompto waved cheerfully to Ignis, as Noctis got a call from his father and scurried from the room, and Ignis cleared his throat and tried not to scowl at Prompto for fear of giving him the wrong idea.

“Good evening," Ignis replied, hoping no rasp came through. "I hope your after-school job went well.”

“Oh, it was fine!” Prompto bounded over to the kitchen counter. He took a deep, deep breath, as if winding up, then began to babble, “There was this lady who came in all panicked because her dog was acting kind of funny, so…”

Ignis didn’t mean to tune Prompto out, but as the squeezing feeling in his chest faded, he couldn’t help but dwell on it as Prompto chattered about his afternoon at work, gesturing, pitch bouncing with his characteristic exuberance. For once, Ignis wasn't sucked into his cheer. He’d never felt anything quite like that before, but it seemed to be gone now. He wondered if he’d imagined it, but couldn’t be sure.

“... funny, right?” Prompto grinned as he finished his story. Ignis felt his face heat up, and realized he had hardly been listening to Prompto talk.

“Er. Yes.” Ignis fanned himself. His face was somehow warmer than it had been when Prompto had come in, and he was certain he’d be as pink as a freshly cut begonia if he checked a mirror. He tried to keep his cool in his voice, at least. “I’m glad you were able to help them.” 

Prompto beamed, and Ignis felt his heart twinge, skipping a beat. Prompto took another deep breath and sighed it out, smiling dreamily, peacefully. “It makes me happy to help people! Speaking of, did you need help, Ignis?”

“I’m quite fine,” Ignis said automatically, and as if to cut that off, Noctis ended his call with his father and hooked Prompto by the arm.

“Come on, Specs has dinner under control. Seriously, you’d just get in his way. Let’s just work on your Crownsguard application and study for that history test so we can play some Black Flag after dinner.” Noctis began to drag Prompto away, and he sheepishly waved as Noctis took him to the table. Ignis managed to snort.

“Imagine, living Lucian history struggling with his grandfather’s life story.”

“I have grandpa down fine,” Noctis grumbled as he pushed Prompto into a seat. “It’s great-great-great grandma and her three daughters that I keep falling asleep on.”

Prompto chuckled. “Ooh, you remember the mnemonic for remembering all of their names and titles? Because I sure don’t.”

As Prompto and Noctis settled in to study, Ignis turned back to the stove, but pressed one hand to his breast. He felt like his heart had stopped, and he was struggling to breathe in its wake. It was getting better now, but that feeling was strange and frightening, really. Ignis, plainly put, didn’t like it.

Perhaps it was just the heat from the stove. Ignis turned down the heat just a little and stood further back from the stove to finish the meal, tuning out Noctis and Prompto’s study session and concentrating on getting the food done, in hopes that moment was merely a fluke, a freak internal hiccup, and intended to watch for further incidents.

And yet, when he finished the soup and dished out, when he set bowls down in front of Prompto and Noctis, when Prompto beamed at him with a sincere “Thank you so much!”, Ignis felt heat rush through his face and his heart skipped a dozen beats. That fluttering sensation was back in full force, like his heart was trying to beat and failing, or like some hand had reached into his chest and grabbed it tight. Ignis muttered acknowledgements and hurried to get himself a tall glass of ice water. His appetite was gone, his stomach in knots, and he couldn’t make himself do anything more than sip at the water.

Surely he’d just overheated. Surely it was just a little stress from his own day catching up with him. This was nothing, and even if it wasn’t, then surely it was coincidental that it kept flaring up whenever Prompto looked him in the eyes.

* * *

A few days later, Ignis had nearly forgotten about that curious ache in his chest and was ready to chalk it up to a freak, one-night-only occurrence, when there was a surprise encore.

Noctis had texted permission to invite Prompto over for dinner, studying, and video games, as if Ignis didn’t know the studying was a front, a prerequisite that Noctis and Prompto would make a rote by-the-book effort towards, before devouring dinner and playing video games far past a sensible bedtime for a school night. Ignis had agreed, since even a token attempt at studying was more than Noctis would do on his own. However, when the door to the apartment swung open, Ignis didn’t hear the usual chatter and laughter that floated around Prompto wherever he went, echoing off of Noctis and Prompto’s every interaction. That silence caught Ignis' attention more than their usual raucous noise would, and he put down the report he was reading to peer into the entryway. 

To his horror, Prompto had red stains coating his school uniform and jacket, and tears streaming down his face next to lips sealed tight to dam back his sobs. Noctis was obviously enraged, face bright red, his phone pressed to his ear. Ignis could hear hold music under Prompto’s hitching breaths.

His chest was squeezing again. He couldn’t breathe.

Even so, he had to act.

Ignis snapped his fingers to get their attention, and Prompto looked at him. The wet streaks down his face came thicker and faster, and he edged towards Ignis, opening his arms a little, and Ignis saw the red stains all down his front. This close, Ignis could smell tomato soup. The realization crossed Prompto’s face like a shadow flickering over his eyes, and he bit his lip, head hung, and started to turn around. Ignis grabbed his shoulder, regardless of the tomato soup on it.

“What happened?”

Just then, the hold music on Noctis’ phone stopped, and he began to snarl into the phone: “I’m not sure what part of ‘Phinneas Asinus and Junius Rotamata threw the spoiled tomato soup from the cafeteria onto Prompto Argentum’ is lost on you, but if you don’t put me on the phone with someone who can do something about it, then I’m going to get my dad involved and we’ll see how the application of your anti-bullying policy holds up under Royal scrutiny!” He marched down the hall and into his bedroom, and Prompto finally broke and began to sniffle.

“It… it was a prank… r-real funny, right?” Prompto weakly spread his arms, showing the tomato soup covering his shirt, tie, and pants all the way down. “They said, Niffs have enough Lucian blood on their hands, now you look the part…”

“Oh, dear.” Ignis bit his lip as anger and sorrow warred in his breast. He thanked Prompto's lucky stars that Noctis’ school had installed cameras around the entire perimeter and in every hallway at the Crown’s insistence, and could only presume that the reason Noctis’ call was taking so long was that the poor, harried administrator was trying to find the correct camera feed. However, Noctis had never sounded more like a Prince, so Ignis would leave this to him for the time being and check in when the dust had settled. No, what was more important was that Prompto be taken care of. He stuffed his anger back and focused on the task at hand: “Let’s get you out of those filthy things. I’ll wash them and give you some of Noct’s clothes for the time being.”

Ignis ushered Prompto into the bathroom, and made him strip down in the shower both so Prompto wouldn’t get the foul-smelling soup on the floor, and so Prompto could pull the curtain around for a modicum of privacy or shower if he wanted to. Ignis willed the glimpse of skin he'd caught from his mind, instead letting his mind center on _poor Prompto, poor dear Prompto, how could anyone do something so cruel to such a good boy?_

Ignis texted Noctis to let him know he was giving Prompto some of his comfortable clothing, and Noctis paused his phone call long enough to send a text saying _‘you can give Prompto whatever he wants if it makes him stop crying.’_ Ignis picked out Noctis’ softest sweatpants and sweater, heart still hammering, and knocked on the wall beside the shower. “Prompto, I’ve borrowed some things for you to wear while I clean your uniform.”

Prompto gently nudged the shower curtain open, and Ignis caught a glimpse of his chest and back, still dripping from the impromptu shower, and Ignis' heart stopped as the knowledge that Prompto had freckles down his chest took center stage in Ignis' mind. Prompto flashed Ignis a shadow of his usual smile. “Thank you, Iggy.” He closed the shower curtain again, and Ignis forced himself to breathe deep as his heart stuttered again. “Sorry, you must think I’m pathetic.”

His voice was muffled behind the curtain, but it didn’t disguise the sorrow in his voice. Ignis’ chest squeezed tighter - no, he couldn’t let himself be distracted by his own pain, Prompto needed him right now! “I don’t, no. I think the world is needlessly cruel to you, and you are doing your best to put on a brave face about how others treat you.”

“I…” Prompto trailed off, then mumbled, “Thanks.” There was a faint rustling of fabric, and Prompto stepped out of the shower, still wringing water out of his hair. “Um, I think I need to bleach these.” He went to pick up the clothes from the shower floor, but Ignis had a basket at the ready and yanked on an elbow-length rubber glove.

“Leave it to me. There’s cocoa waiting for you on the table.” 

Prompto curled up in the kitchen chair, sipping at the cocoa Ignis had made. There was still the occasional crescendo of noise from Noctis’ room as he continued to argue with the school administrators (Ignis heard a distinct “What do you _mean_ 'have his parents authorize'…” before the noise was covered by the rumble of the washer). Ignis was still struggling to breathe, chest clenching as Prompto pulled his knees in and sniffled dryly into his half-empty mug. 

“Prompto.” Ignis steeled himself and sat across from him. “It takes a great deal of fortitude to walk away from abuse without retaliation. You’re putting a brave face on it, and truly, that you face that and still come back most days with a smile speaks to your fortitude.” 

“Thanks, Iggy.” Prompto took a deep, deep breath, and exhaled slowly. “Though honestly, it was more because I was too upset to punch ‘em back.” He gripped the mug a little tighter. “This is why I keep considering joining the Crownsguard. Maybe it’ll make me stronger, or show people I do care about Lucis.” 

Ignis felt his heart clench all over. “Nobody who matters thinks you're anything less than a Crown Citizen. As for Crownsguard, while an admirable aspiration, it’s a risky move. It’s difficult work, the requirements are fairly strict, and you could-” Ignis’ throat squeezed, and he had to choke it out: “You could get hurt, Prompto.”

“I know.” Prompto hung his head. “But if I can’t protect myself at school - I mean, what if they’d gotten Noct? - I mean, I want to…” He sighed heavily. “I just want to be stronger, for me, for Noct. For… it’s important. So, joining the Crownsguard-”

“Prompto,” Ignis was strangled just saying his name, the word like a plea from a drowning man, his voice watery, and he choked for a moment on a cough. “Prompto, you have to understand. When you’re in the Crownsguard, even if you’re strong, there are still things that can hurt you. When we send men outside the Wall, we don’t know for certain if they’ll return. It’s not just a game!”

“It wouldn’t be a game,” Prompto mumbled. “It’d mean something.”

“But at risk of yourself!” Ignis was certain he was choking, though he wasn’t sure what it was that was strangling him. He was dying, he knew it, he must be to feel this much panic. “I hate to think of you-” He coughed even harder that time, and Prompto jumped up and circled the table, eyes wide.

“Are you okay?” He patted Ignis’ back, but somehow, Prompto’s hand made the strangling feeling even worse. Ignis felt like his lungs were going to explode, and suddenly he felt that horrible feeling burst up his throat.

He rushed towards the sink, certain he was going to be sick, but nothing came out but a few deep, throaty, _horrible_ coughs. Prompto watched in horror as Ignis gripped the counter and heaved for air. Ignis heard him tiptoeing towards him, and felt his light hand rubbing little circles at the top of his back. “Ignis? Are you coming down with something?”

“I…” Ignis’ voice came raspy now, and he grimaced at it. “I must be. Apologies.” 

“I’m sorry,” Prompto mumbled, and Ignis glanced over his shoulder to see Prompto’s lower lip wiggling. “You… you’re not feeling well and you’re still taking care of me…”

Ignis’ heart skipped another beat, the heat overcame his face again, but he shook his head. “I’m well enough, but thank you for your concern.” He staggered to a chair, faint and woozy, and opened the top button of his shirt as if it might constrict his throat less, just as Noctis emerged from his room.

“The administrators found the tapes,” he mumbled as he rushed over to Prompto and threw his arms around him in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it hug, then held Prompto’s forearms. “They’re gonna throw the book at ‘em, and if I find out they didn’t, they’ll be dealing with my dad.” He tugged Prompto’s wrists, then looked to Ignis. “Hey, thanks for - whoa.” Noctis blinked with surprise. “You look beat.”

“He’s got this awful cough, Noct,” Prompto whispered, fraught, and Ignis’ heart clenched again as if to prove him right. Noctis frowned, nodding sagely. 

“Maybe you should take the night off of cooking. And everything.”

“Noct,” Ignis began to protest, but Noctis shook his head. 

“For your own good. Mine, too. If you’re sick, I don’t want it.”

Ignis grimaced. Noctis had a point.

“So, you go home and call a doctor and rest, I’ll call Gladio to babysit, and we’ll take care of dinner on our own.” Noctis gave Prompto a gentle nudge in the ribs with his elbow, and Ignis was certain he mouthed the word _“PIZZA”_ as if Ignis couldn’t read his lips. Even so, he was in no position to argue.

“My thanks,” he said, unable to raise his voice much louder than a murmur, and got to a shaky, wobbly stand. He felt too heavy, his whole body weak, as he stumbled forward. He heard Noctis calling Gladio already as he departed, his legs feeling like unfinished gelatin under him. He was certain he could feel Prompto’s gaze boring a hole into his back. 

Noctis had a point. If Ignis was coming down with something, it was his duty to protect Noctis from it. 

(He didn’t want to pass it to Prompto either.)

* * *

Ignis went to bed early in hopes that extra rest would cure what ailed him, but he tossed and turned restlessly when he tried, stomach sinking with despair as the minutes marched by and sleep would not come. His mind was still busy with worry for Noctis, for poor Prompto, and fears about his own wellness.

When sleep did come, however, it was too brief, punctuated by dreams Ignis would never be able to describe in words. Instead, he woke in the midst of one, panting and shaking, sweat rolling down his forehead and back. His heart was racing like it was about to miss the train, blood pumping through him and making him hot and sweaty from head to toe.

Worse, he felt the twinges of arousal, and stiffness at the join of his legs. Ignis groaned and wearily kneaded his erection through his pajama pants. He would have to deal with it one way or another if he was to get any rest at all. 

He couldn't even remember the dream, but perhaps that too was part of the illness. Ignis had hoped it would clear on its own, but he couldn't stand to let this go on.

He needed a diagnosis, first thing in the morning, so he could have his cure. 

* * *

Ignis was not too embarrassed to see a doctor. There was no shame in coming down with a mild illness; he wasn’t _better_ than illness. 

It was merely that he was far too busy to see a doctor.

He instead did some research on the internet, and plugged his symptoms into the Panacea.org search engine. He tried to remember how long he’d been feeling these things, but it felt like too long. Had it been weeks since he’d first noticed his breath hitching, his heart seizing in his chest as if gripped by some terrible hand, his face going cold or hot at random? He saw ‘night sweats’ listed as an option, and was stung with horror as he realized his bout of sudden waking, overheated and flushed, his body _reacting_ without his say so, had been _symptoms_ instead of just a bad reaction to strange dreams he couldn’t remember. He’d only really noticed how severe it was a few days ago, but Ignis was certain he’d been noticing little things for a while.

That it had slipped up on him, unnoticed, was as offensive as anything. As soon as he had the diagnosis, he would get the cure and rub it out, post haste.

Ignis hit enter, and waited. Shortness of breath, chest pains, night sweats, fevers, loss of appetite, chills…

Tuberculosis was the first result. A death sentence. 

“Oh, gods.” 

* * *

Ignis resolved to do as much as he could before he ran out of time, but he knew he had to be precariously careful. He wore disposable gloves no matter what he was doing now, resolving to change them whenever they became soiled. He donned a paper gown to put another barrier between his tainted body and Noctis’ belongings. He washed his hands furiously when not wearing the gloves, and he put on a facemask so he wouldn’t even breathe on any of Noctis’ things. He did all he could think of, but it wasn’t enough. He knew that his final duties would be more than getting as far ahead on his tasks as possible. He had to prepare Noctis. 

When Noctis came in that afternoon, he took one look at Ignis in his facemask and gloves, and cocked his head. “You’re better already? You still look, uh…” Noctis gestured a little, twirling his finger to indicate Ignis’ outfit.

“Ah, Noctis. Good to see you.” Ignis tried to keep the disappointment from his voice, as brisk and factual as ever. “Unfortunately, I’m dying.”

Noctis sputtered indignantly, dropping his backpack, then put his hands on his hips. “What?! No way!”

“I’m afraid it’s true.” Ignis averted his eyes, unable to stand the anger and disappointment in Noctis’ face and posture. “Tuberculosis. I fear that, based on my symptoms, I’m too far gone to be treated. Therefore, we must begin-"

“No way!” Noctis repeated, as if his words might make it so. Alas, Ignis thought. “Ignis, nobody just _dies_ like that, you’re fine!”

“I don’t like it either.” Ignis clasped his hands together. “But I fear it to be the truth.”

“No, no.” Noctis paced a few steps in his fury, face going red. “What are your symptoms? Have you seen a doctor?”

“I haven’t seen a doctor, but I don’t believe it necessary-”

Noctis groaned aloud. “Specs! Come on!” 

“Noctis.” Ignis hung his head. “The… the coughing fits I’ve been having. The tightness in my chest. The fevers, the chills. I’m having a good day, but it’s so bad sometimes I can hardly function-”

The door open and shut, and Prompto’s voice echoed down the foyer of Noctis’ apartment: “I made it! Come on, dude, are we ready-” Prompto trotted in just then, and Ignis immediately felt his chest seize up. Prompto, too, frowned. “Iggy? What’s with the get-up?”

“Get this,” Noctis sneered, turning to Prompto with derision bending his brow and mouth. “He thinks he’s dying. He thinks he has _tuberculosis_. Who even gets tuberculosis outside of the heroines in Gladio’s romance novels?!”

“Are you serious?!” Prompto gasped and turned to Ignis, worry flooding his face like someone had spilled an inkwell of fear onto him. “Iggy! Why aren’t you resting and taking medicine?!”

“I’m afraid I don’t know when the end will be,” Ignis murmured, his chest getting tighter and tighter. “I… I have to prepare. I'll have to let His Majesty know. I’ll set up a meal service for Noctis in the intervening time, though I’ll have to find some way to ensure there are meals for you for when you visit…”

“Ignis,” Prompto whispered, stricken and broken. Ignis shivered, feeling cold and too hot all at once. 

“I’m afraid Noctis will need a new chamberlain, as well. His Majesty will surely begin the selection process soon. I’ll leave explicit instructions for them.” Ignis wobbled a step back. “I’ll be certain they know how important you are, as well. I’ll do everything I can to ensure your friendship is uninterrupted…”

The front door opened again, and Ignis heard Gladio’s heavy boots tromping through. He steeled himself, as Gladio stopped cold in the entryway, eyes roving the room as he took in the scene. “Hey, what the hell is going on here?”

“Iggy’s dying!” Prompto blurted out, and tears spilled out of him like a leaking faucet. His face went bright red, and Ignis felt nauseous and feverish at the sight of Prompto crying for him. “Gladio, he says he’s dying and there’s nothing we can do, but there has to be _something_ we can do-”

“He’s not sick,” Noctis growled, his fists balled tight at his sides. “He wasn’t that sick, he’s _not_ that sick! There’s something else-”

“But we have to help!” Prompto wailed, and suddenly, Ignis’ head was too light. He was about to collapse. Going down. No stopping it. Time to yell timber.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped through the mask, as he staggered backward, “but I fear I’m going to-”

The last thing Ignis heard was Prompto’s wail, and a screech of rubber soles on the linoleum as Ignis collapsed.

* * *

He wasn’t certain how long he was out when he came to, but he was aware that someone had put him on the sofa. He blinked back the fuzzy blackness in his vision, and a few moments later, Gladio was looking down into his face.

“Hey Iggy, you doing alright?” Gladio smirked a little. “I got your fainting couch and sent the kids to the arcade.”

Ignis narrowed his eyes. “I confide in my dearest friends that I’m dying and you mock me.”

“We’re not - Ignis, hey.” Ignis sat up, but Gladio, already sitting beside him, pulled him back to look at him. “Ignis, you legitimately did faint.”

“I’m well aware!” Ignis’ voice was too loud, face cold - _his mask_. “You took my mask off?!”

Gladio sent Ignis a look that clearly said ‘well, _duh_.’ “I was worried you weren’t getting enough air.”

“I could infect the lot of you!” Ignis hurried to his feet, a wave of dizziness crossing over him, and he went for his supply bag of disposable gloves and paper gowns to re-equip himself. “You should all get tested anyway. What if I was contagious before I began to protect you from my illness?!”

“Ignis.” Gladio was clearly straining to keep cool, and he slowly approached Ignis like he was creeping up on a prickly, spooked cat he wanted to catch. “I think you might be scrambling some stuff in your head. Maybe you should take a step back and look at what’s actually got you this screwed up.”

“What would you know?!” Ignis spun on his heel, strapping the mask on in a fluid motion. “You’re not the one who’s just found out he’s dying!” He clenched his fists. “I’m going to waste away from this horrible cough, drowning in my own foul _fluids_ , and you and Noctis want to mock me!”

“We’re not mocking you.” Gladio crossed his arms, an edge to his words now. “We’re actually pretty damn worried, so calm the hell down. Maybe your _disease_ isn’t as advanced as you think it is.”

“But it is! I’m still -” Ignis struggled for words, wrestling with the memories he would never get to make. “It’s not as if I want this. I still have so much I want to do. I want to see Noctis come into his own, I want-” His throat got thick again. “I want to see Prompto graduate, and go to college, or join the C-Crownsguard…” He felt faint again at the thought of Prompto in uniform, then of Prompto marching off past the walls where _nobody would protect him_ …

“Ignis.” Gladio grabbed his shoulders, but his voice came out much softer this time. This was the Gladio that Ignis heard comforting Iris, Ignis realized with a wince. “Look, how about we schedule you a doctor’s appointment, and you actually take a few days to rest? Maybe a doctor will have some cure.” Gladio patted his shoulders. “We’ll all come check on you and take care of you. I’m being serious: even if you’re not actually sick, me, Noct, and Prompto are all really, legitimately worried-”

“Prompto,” Ignis whispered in a rasp, and his stomach twisted up again at the thought of Prompto standing by his deathbed. “He, and you, and Noctis… perhaps you should stay away from me.”

Gladio groaned as Ignis pushed his hands away. “Don’t be like that.”

“It’s true. I won’t have either of you get infected.” Ignis dragged himself to the door. “I’ll... I’ll see a doctor. When one is available. But until then, just....” He grimaced as he gripped the doorknob. “Just keep your distance.” Gladio didn’t stop him from opening the door and marching out, as Ignis pushed his mask back in place as if it would grant him some measure of dignity to spare his friends his horrible fate. 

He caught a glimpse of Prompto re-entering the building, and though Noctis didn’t take notice of him hurriedly departing, Prompto called Ignis’ name. Ignis strained not to look at him, determined to keep his distance. He texted a politely worded request for “a few days’ leave” to Marshal Leonis, citing “a health issue” and promising to “deal with it expediently."

His heart began to hurt again the faster he walked away, his whole body heavy like an anchor, dragging himself inexorably toward his fate.

* * *

Ignis managed to schedule an appointment with his doctor for three days in the future - what was the rush? He likely wouldn’t die any faster - and set about trying to “take care of himself,” whatever that meant. He drank tea and read novels he’d never made time for due to his busy schedule, and ignored Noctis’ insistent texts.

He tried not to think of them.

Even so, his symptoms seemed to flare up, sometimes out of nowhere. He’d be reading his book and the soldiers would march out towards the battlefield, and his heart would clench, his lungs would stop, and he wouldn’t be able to breathe. He’d see an advertisement on television with a pretty blonde girl advertising some toothpaste with a big smile and his face would get hot and he’d feel weak in the knees. He woke in the night again, his face red, hot and flushed, sweat rolling off of him, panting like a wounded animal, and, worst of all, erect in his pajamas without his say-so! He hoped that wasn’t a symptom, because he couldn’t even stand to think of what that part of the night sweats could possibly mean.

Even worse was the guilt that welled through him at leaving Noctis alone. Gladio and Prompto would surely take care of him. When he had satisfied Gladio’s demands, he decided, he’d go back and serve ‘til his dying breath, making sure Noctis went to school, came home, read his council reports, and ate a healthy meal until Ignis no longer had the power to make any of that a reality. He had to at least have a very serious talk with him about what Noctis wanted in a new advisor. 

Maybe he could give Prompto a few pointers about how to succeed in the Crownsguard. Help him pick his weapon. Say a proper farewell to the one person who had always shown him kindness without any compulsion or expectation to do so. 

Ignis had trouble getting out of bed after that thought struck him. 

Time blurred, hours and minutes bleeding and warping around him like he was looking through a film of oil. He slept restlessly, and he didn’t bother to make himself get out of bed to eat. He curled under the covers and shivered as he tried to will himself to keep trying, if only for a little longer, just a little longer…

Then, his sickbed solitude was shattered by his front door slamming shut.

"Oops!"

That voice! 

“Iggy?” Prompto’s voice rang into his ear, and Ignis shut his eyes tight, certain he was imagining it. Regardless of his denial, a few minutes later, Prompto’s face appeared in the doorway. He was wearing a face mask, but his eyebrows were still knit up with horrible worry. “Here you are.” He trotted in, shoes off, carrying a basket. 

“Prompto,” Ignis rasped, still not wanting to believe Prompto was actually here. “You shouldn’t be here.” 

“Maybe not, but someone should.” Prompto squatted down so he could be eye level with Ignis. “Gladio said you were seeing the doctor tomorrow, but nobody’s seen you since we were all at Noct's a few days ago, and you haven’t talked to Noct or Gladio at all, and since you think you’re dying, I thought it’d be good to at least check on you.” He began to open up the basket. “So I brought you a care package, you know, stuff I'd want if it were me-”

Ignis squeezed his eyes shut again as Prompto continued to cheerfully babble, his eyes burning. Somehow, he felt even sicker than ever as Prompto took out a storage tub of what looked like chicken noodle soup, a little plastic bag with a sandwich in it, and a bottle of red liquid, as well as a box of creme-sandwich cookies and a jug of orange juice. “See, I know you think you might be dying, but we can make you feel better! I… I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that.” Prompto’s cheer faltered for a moment. “This doctor will help you get better, I just know it!”

“There isn't a cure for what I have,” Ignis rasped, his throat feeling thick as if he’d already swallowed the cough medicine. His chest was getting tighter by the second, and he felt a cold sweat coat him when Prompto’s brow knit up with worry. 

“I know. You… you said that.” Prompto turned his attention down to the basket and sniffled a little. “But… but maybe your TB isn’t so advanced it can’t be cured yet.”

“My symptoms are too severe.” Ignis’ heart clenched when he heard Prompto sniffle again. “I… I read…”

“It’s okay. Let's not worry too much. Why don’t I help sit you up so you can eat?”

Prompto propped Ignis up with a few spare pillows and heated the soup up in Ignis’ microwave. Ignis felt weak when Prompto touched him, and weaker when he left the room. Prompto came back in, eyes red-rimmed, but carrying a bowl of soup. “I promise I’ll clean everything up for you, okay? You’ll need your strength. S-so you can feel better.”

Ignis’ stomach turned, fluttering like it was full of insects, as the thought seized in his mind - Prompto so badly wanted him to get well. How horrible it would be when Ignis disappointed him. “You shouldn’t waste your energy on me.” He hung his head, and Prompto whined.

“It’s not a waste. I want to do this.” He put the soup on Ignis’ lap and put the spoon in his hand. Ignis’ heart practically burst right when Prompto’s fingers brushed his, and Ignis gasped and clutched at his chest, silently pleading his heart to keep beating a little longer. Prompto gasped too and put his hand over Ignis’. “What is it?!”

“I… my chest… it seizes up sometimes…”

“Oh… aw, man.” Prompto sighed and sank down. “I… I know you can’t help it. Please, eat something for me.”

Prompto rocked on his heels crouched next to Ignis’ bed as Ignis made a token attempt to eat the soup Prompto had brought. It was simple, but surprisingly mild, not too salty. For a canned soup. “It’s good,” he murmured after a few half-hearted bites. “What… brand is this?”

“I made it.” Prompto shrugged weakly. “It’s store-bought broth and some chickatrice off a rotisserie bird from the store and some chopped up carrots and noodles I had around, but… I mean, nothing like a little homemade soup to heal the spirit, right?”

Prompto _made_ this. For him. 

Ignis’ face was suddenly too hot, sweat rolling down his forehead. He pushed it away, afraid to get his disgusting sweat in it and afraid he’d overheated already. “I… I’m sorry… it’s good but I can’t eat.”

Prompto looked remarkably like a kicked puppy as he took the bowl away and put it on the bedside table. “I wish you would, but I understand.” He sighed and sat again, curling his knees to his chest as he settled. “I know when I’m sick or when my anxiety is bad, I don’t have much of an appetite at all. I have to make myself do it.”

Ignis curiously leaned over, watching Prompto fidget with the string on his mask. “Anxiety? I… I had no idea…”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Prompto hung his head. “It used to be real bad. Like, I’d have trouble breathing, or it’d feel like my heart was about to pop when I was stressed about something.” 

Ignis felt his heart skip another beat and sat back against the pillows. “Is… is that so? That sounds miserable. Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“I never wanted to worry you guys! It’s not a big deal.” Prompto waved a hand. “I… I’ve been learning to control and release it.”

“Is there anything I can do, or tell the others to do?” Ignis tried to sit up, aching with concern. Even to his dying moment, he felt driven to do what he could for Prompto. Prompto smiled sheepishly as he drew his arms around his knees.

“Nah, really I’m okay! I’ve got ways of controlling it.” Prompto curled up a little closer. “Like, um, there’s this… guy I like. Yeah. And he’ll never like me back, so it’s not worth worrying about? But like, I used to sort of lock up whenever I saw him.” He chuckled and tightened his arms around his knees, and Ignis felt his chest seize as if Prompto were crushing him in that same motion. 

“H-him?”

“Oh. Right.” Prompto’s voice dropped. “Um, that… that doesn’t bother you does it?”

“No, of course not, but... you should…” Ignis trailed off, but his throat dried up all of a sudden, windpipe constricting around the words. 

Prompto chuckled weakly. “Tell him? Yeah, Noct said the same thing when I admitted there was someone I liked but I guess I can tell you the same thing I told him: if you knew who it was, you’d know why I can’t just tell him.” Prompto heaved another sigh, as Ignis filed through his memory like he was spinning a Rolodex, searching for names and reasons why Prompto couldn’t be with someone. “But… I’d get so anxious when I saw him, I felt sick.”

Ignis slowly turned his head towards Prompto, as the wheels in his head crawled to a halt.

“Like, it’s normal, right? To feel butterflies in your stomach, or to blush, or when your heart skips a beat, y’know?” Prompto’s face split into a smile he couldn’t stop despite a little effort, and his hands folded over his heart. “Like in romantic poems and stuff, that’s what they always say it feels like, right? Except for me, it’d turn into a full-on panic attack if I couldn’t, y’know, tamp it down. Like, when he smiled at me, or when I’d be reminded of just… how much I can’t have him.” Prompto’s hand on his heart turned into a claw, digging into his chest like he wanted to tear it out. “I’d have to leave the room when it got too bad. I almost fainted once!”

The words sat heavy on Ignis’ chest. “What… what did you do?”

“I learned some meditative techniques. Deep breathing, thinking deep thoughts in quiet places, that sort of stuff. That way, I could calm myself down when it got to be too much.” Prompto put his chin on his arms where they wrapped around his knees. “I don’t want to stop… y’know, feeling like I do, but… I can’t just make it go away. I’ve just sorta, y’know, found a way to live with these feelings.” 

Ignis’ heart was aching again, his lungs getting tighter and tighter, and his face was burning with heat, all centered around his eyes. “Prompto,” he rasped, straining to breathe. “Prompto, you should just tell him.”

“I don’t think I can.” Prompto’s breath hitched, and he fixed his mask more firmly on his face. “Um, I’m, um, sorry. I should go. I’m sorry.” Prompto hurried to his feet, but Ignis grabbed his wrist.

“P-Prompto! Wait!” Ignis gripped him as tight as he could. His grip was weak, his hands shaking, but he couldn’t let Prompto run away when he’d suddenly had a terrible epiphany. Prompto, however, just winced, the red rimming his eyes darker than ever.

“I’m sorry if I upset you. I’ll leave.” He tugged at his own wrist, but Ignis couldn’t let go.

“I fear that I have upset myself.” Heat flooded his face as he tried to hold Prompto’s gaze, making his cheeks steam and radiate, but hoping his earnest sentiment met his eyes and flooded his voice: “I think I need to talk to you about something very serious.”

“To me?” Prompto’s eyes went wide. “Sh-should I call Noct?”

“No.” Ignis shook his head. “P-please, will you sit with me a little longer?” He gestured to the end of his bed. “I beg of you, just a little longer.”

Prompto nervously lowered himself to sit beside Ignis’ legs, and Ignis pulled his legs in to cross them under him. His hands were still quaking, but something Prompto had said was making a new kind of sick feeling set in and he had to do something about it. “I need to ask you about… about your symptoms.” Ignis winced to say it, and he saw Prompto’s mouth twist a little under the mask. 

“What do you mean?”

“That they sound horribly like mine.” Ignis lowered his eyes in shame. Prompto inhaled sharply.

“Oh no - should I-” Prompto grabbed at his own breast. “Do you think I gave it to you?! Should I call a doctor?”

“I… I haven’t spoken to a doctor about my condition.” Ignis winced. “I believe I may have jumped to conclusions based on bad information.”

“Wait.” Prompto’s eyes went wide, and he held up a hand like a Stop sign. “Did you diagnose yourself with tuberculosis based on a Moogle search?”

Ignis grimaced, but corrected: “Panacea. The search function where you enter your symptoms.”

Prompto stood abruptly, took a huge, deep breath, then exhaled. He didn’t speak again for about ten seconds, but when he did, it was a whisper of, “You may need to bribe me not to tell Gladio.”

Ignis would have laughed if he weren’t on the verge of crying. “We can discuss terms later. However, you said that…” He swallowed hard. “You… you couldn’t breathe around the object of your affection.” Prompto nodded. “And your heart felt like it stopped beating. And… and you would feel butterflies in your stomach.”

“So bad that I felt nauseous.” Prompto’s eyes wrinkled at the edges.

“Did you feel warm?”

“My face would get hot like I’d just had a mouthful of Ravatogh Reaper curry.” Prompto laughed sheepishly. “It was the worst.”

Ignis hesitated, but had to ask: “Would you ever wake up sweating?”

Prompto turned bright red behind the mask, and he fidgeted with the edge of the Ignis’ bedsheet. “Um. I, uh, have a pretty vivid imagination, so… I mean, come on, you know how it happens!” He flapped a hand out demonstratively, and Ignis shook his head.

“I’ve never been through that before.”

“Before?” Prompto raised an eyebrow. “You mean you never had wet dreams?” 

Ignis flushed and shook his head. “I was… aware of such things, but I… it never occurred in my experience.” He turned his face. “Surely you think I’m mad.”

“No, I think maybe you just didn’t think of it! Do you dream of anyone in particular?” Prompto was clearly stifling a laugh. Ignis heaved a sigh.

“I… I don’t remember my dreams.” He squeezed his eyes tight, but when he did, he could see a flash of Prompto smiling in his memories, then a glimpse of creamy freckle-flecked chest that he’d seen when Prompto had been changing in Noctis’ shower. 

_Oh._

“Aw man.” Prompto, completely ignorant of Ignis' mental theatre, rubbed the back of his head. “But I guess the trick is that it’d be connected to someone.” Prompto turned and leaned in. “Do you… do you like someone?”

“I like several someones, but I’m not certain I…” Ignis swallowed. “Just… hear me out. I’ve been realizing that… all of these things flare up…” His voice pitched as his chest tightened. “Around you.”

Prompto’s eyes went wider than ever, pools of cornflower blue so deep and dark Ignis thought he might drown, but Ignis grabbed weakly at his hand. “I’m so sorry. But - I get feverish when you enter a room! My chest tightens! I can’t breathe! I feel so sick! It gets even worse when you’re upset, or hurt, or when you talk about joining the Crownsguard-”

“Oh, Six, for real?!” Prompto’s jaw dropped. “You mean you thought you were dying, but you were actually-”

Ignis winced and scrubbed at his face with his free hand, and gripped Prompto’s sleeve tighter with the other. “I think… I think I may be dying for you.”

Prompto laughed and tore his paper mask off. “Oh man! Oh man!” He grabbed Ignis around the shoulders and pulled him to his chest. “Don’t die! I’m right here!” Ignis yelped, too surprised to be dignified. “I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere, and I’m in love with you too!”

Ignis startled, but Prompto held him tighter. “Every time you did something especially handsome or suave, or every time you made a cute joke, I’d feel like I was dying too!”

“Did I cause you to feel that awful?” Ignis’ heart nearly stopped as he recalled what Prompto had said about meditation exercises, and every time he’d seen Prompto take a deep breath when they’d been talking. He wondered how many of the times Prompto had run out of the room had been so he could compose himself. “Darling, I’m so sorry-”

Ignis felt flames on his shoulder as Prompto buried his face in the crook of his neck. “Oh man, you’re gonna actually kill me if you keep calling me darling. Please never stop.” 

Ignis wrapped his arms tighter around Prompto. “I don’t want that to happen. The very last thing I want is for you to get hurt.”

“And I don’t want you to work yourself to death. We can talk about me joining the Crownsguard, and we can talk about you taking better care of you so you don’t assume a little lovesickness is going to actually kill you!” Prompto kissed his nose. “But I’m right here now, okay?” He trailed kisses across Ignis’ nose to his cheek then his ear. “I’m gonna make you feel all better! Time for your medicine!”

“What-” Before Ignis could ask, Prompto pushed him back against the pillows, peppering Ignis’ entire face with kisses. The warmth in Ignis’ breast bubbled up out of him into laughter, and his heart felt lighter than it had in weeks. Prompto finally rested, sprawled on top of him, and wrapped his arms around him.

“It’s you. I’m in love with you.” He rested his head on Ignis’ shoulder again and carded his fingers through his hair. “I was just so scared you wouldn’t love me back and might even hate me if you knew how I felt.” 

“I don’t think it’s possible for any decent person to hate you.” Ignis kissed him on the cheek. “I think we might have a few things to discuss, but I think we might each have the cure for what ails us.”

Prompto held Ignis even tighter, and though his body was a little heavy against Ignis’ chest, Ignis welcomed it as a substitute for the weight of all of his fears. 

* * *

As it turned out, love crept up on one much like a creeping cat, but now, when it caught up with him, it didn’t drag him down.

Instead, lithe arms slipped around Ignis’ neck in the Citadel hallway, and Ignis smiled as Prompto planted a kiss on his cheek. “Hi Iggy!”

“Good afternoon, darling.” Ignis turned in the circle of Prompto’s arms to return a kiss to his nose. A few yards back, Noctis groaned with mock disgust.

“You two are seriously gonna make me sick.” He strolled up behind Prompto and yanked him back, and Prompto moaned. Ignis straightened his vest and cleared his throat, then fanned his face. He still flushed a little when Prompto smiled, but Gladio, rolling his eyes all the while, promised Ignis that it’d go away. Even now, as Gladio followed along behind the others, he was rolling his eyes.

“The lovebirds spreading their cooties again, Noct?” He grinned lasciviously at Ignis as he flopped an arm around Noctis’ shoulder. “Careful, it might be contagious.”

“Shut up.” Noctis groaned and leaned hard into Gladio’s chest. 

“Ignore them, love,” Ignis told Prompto, then granted him a kiss on the forehead. “How did it go?”

“It went perfectly!” Prompto took out a temporary Citadel ID, beaming. “I’ll be training to join the Crownsguard starting next week! I’ll have to quit my part-time job, and I’ll be sent off to boot camp for a few weeks after graduation, but it’ll be worth it.”

“And in six months,” Noctis added, “I’ll arrange to add a man to my personal retinue.” Ignis nodded gratefully.

Ignis had worried about Prompto becoming a foot soldier. However, knowing that Prompto would immediately be snapped up by Noctis as a personal guard was much more comfortable, since he and Gladio would be in the very same boat. Noctis was still at risk on an everyday basis, but nowhere near as much as he would be on the front lines, as just another target in the Empire’s sights. Now, Noctis would have one more incredibly dedicated bodyguard, and Ignis could breathe and enjoy imagining Prompto in his uniform.

(If that thought gave him additional “night sweats,” such was the unfortunate nature of being a man.)

“I’m proud of you for taking this path.” Ignis closed his hand around Prompto’s, careful not to wrinkle the ID in his palm. “Is the newest member of the Crownsguard still available for our date tomorrow night?”

Prompto turned all sorts of pink, all the way to his ear. “Oh, man, are you gonna honor me and stuff?”

“Honor, respect, adore; take your pick, any or all.” Ignis smiled wider than he thought he could, and kissed Prompto’s brow again, so pleased it nearly hurt. 

Ignis was grateful that Noctis and Gladio had taken his explanation of his “illness” as “a manifestation of a panic disorder” well. He was even more grateful that they accepted that he was seeking therapy and was practicing some meditative exercises to help him relax when he felt the tension building up. He did go to a doctor the morning after he spoke with Prompto, who suggested he work on healthier ways to handle his panics, but fortunately, his panics had significantly lessened in the three days since he’d confessed his feelings to Prompto. 

Now, he kissed the back of Prompto’s hand and relished the way his heart skipped a beat. “Congratulations, my love. Why don’t the three of us take a short jaunt to the arcade before you continue your journey towards finals?”

Prompto tried to groan and giggle at the same time, but swung Ignis’ hand in his and led him the first few steps forward. “Sure! Let’s walk the walk!”

“We could just do the arcade, skip the homework.” Noctis chuckled, and Prompto laughed and clung to Ignis’ hand. Ignis tutted Noctis as he led them along, with Gladio following a step behind.

“Watch it, Noct, or you’ll give Iggy another panic and Prompto’ll have to fix him again.” Gladio winked at Ignis. Ignis flushed, and looped his arm tighter around Prompto.

“I’ll get angry, but I wouldn’t worry about a relapse anytime soon.” He turned to kiss Prompto on the cheek one more time.

Sometimes, Ignis would feel a twinge of loneliness creeping around his ankles or the edges of his heart, but he would remember how it felt to see Prompto return to him, smiling, and it would bear back his heartsickness. Prompto was the cure to his disease, and Ignis was grateful that he could live happily with him for the foreseeable future.

They could help each other feel better, their new love just the balm for what ailed them. Ignis thought their prognosis was good, and their future was bright.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to validate me on your way out!


End file.
